Cocktail of evils served at some bar-restaurants in Paris-Part 13


Of course, the restaurant from Hell below was one of those bad ones.  Mme HEART skimped and did not hire a chef who had worked in a proper restaurant.  Instead, her Asian cook was from a minor takeaway stand.  She never cared about running a legitimate restaurant pleasing the clients with honest food and good service.  You can make a quick profit by setting up a restaurant on a shoestring budget, giving it a facelift and selling it to another restaurateur at a high Paris price.  The difference will be the profit.  My lawyer searched and verified that Mme. HEART had amassed wealth by repeating this scheme.

The restaurant was sparsely occupied.  So, to give the impression of 'Happening place' to the potential buyers of the bogus restaurant Mme. HEART played music loud till late; more nuisance added to the turbo vibration that shook my apartment and the kitchen noises.  My health got eroded day by day.  I was at an utter disadvantage while Mr PRIDE slept well at night while the hefty rent was hitting his bank account.  I was not even in his thought.

My judgment was fragile when Mme suggested another plan by Mme HARMONY.  My lawyer needed to know more about the situation of the building, and Mme. HARMONY had the information.  So I invited her to a meeting with my lawyer.  She talked for over two hours, costing me a lawyer's time which is never free, but she was my friend.  She had been fighting Mr PRIDE alone, and I was too happy to provide professional help to ease her burden.  She had a plan to which she could not get other landlords in the building to participate, but now she had the listening ears.

There is another regulation Mme. HEART was going to breach: it was to fulfil all the promises she made to the authority called BASU regarding minimization of the annoyance to the neighbours.  If this was not met and anyone complained to the authority within two months of the restaurant's opening, their license may be revoked.  Well…I know firsthand Mme HEART had not done anything right, but to inform the authority, I had to launch a lawsuit.  I was prepared to pay legal fees to suppress the noise, but to rob Mr PRIDE of the permit?   A quiet decent restaurant would be enough.  But Mme. HARMONY egged me on.

'The restaurant will create more problems.  Thus it is better for you and everyone in the building that Mr. PRIDE loses his license.'  Yet those same 'everyone in the building' did not want to spend a cent themselves.  Why on earth should I have to pay for all the legal fees to drive out Mr PRIDE? 

I contemplated staying elsewhere on my way home until the police came for inspection.  When I reached home, I heard a shrill drilling noise from the restaurant.  I sighed that Mme. HEART was installing more machines.   And then…it happened.  A new mechanical solid noise was vibrating up into my apartment.  I bolted out of my apartment to the street.  I looked at the restaurant across the street and saw a huge commercial refrigerator through their glass wall.   Mr PRIDE did not wait until the end of the two-month trial period

Such a big commercial refrigerator should have been installed in the basement, but it was placed right below my bedroom.  Mme. HARMONY was right.  Mme. HEART may sell up and go, but Mr. PRIDE would rent his bogus eatery out to someone even worse and make my life miserable.  I also had to think of the person who would live here after me.  I would not want to lie to the person like Mr. KIND aka COWARD, and Patrick did.  All right, I will pay for the lawsuit expenses. 
Mirror that reflects your soulI still had to endure a month in my apartment because I had to record all the noise (the hours and the level) of the restaurant from Hell, and my lawyer needed time to prepare documents for the lawsuit.  The chef increased the noise in the kitchen, leaving the ventilator on even when he was not cooking.  He was seen smoking in the courtyard.  He left the back door so the kitchen noise would gush out and into my apartment.  My nerve system was wrecked so much that even church bells felt like punches between my lungs.  Any noise could jerk my body.  Many times I had to grit my teeth to prevent myself from vomiting.  Every time the ventilator of the restaurant stopped, I would drop down on the floor like a puppet whose string got snapped.  

It was finally two days away from the two months expiry date.  I submitted my report to my lawyer, but all the muscles around my neck and shoulder had become stiff by this time.   I could not take any more bashing…but then it happened, the first blast of music and disco beats rippled through the walls of the old medieval buildings.  It used up so much electricity that the light on the stair hall went out, and one of my power points was burnt.  Earplugs, earmuffs, nothing helped.  I crawled to the kitchen corner, but the beats kept attacking me.  I could hear the guests downstairs cheer repeatedly, not knowing of my predicament. 

It went on until 03:00 am or longer.  I would not know because I passed out.   I woke up the following day.  With a heavy foggy head, I staggered out of my apartment.  I saw a young French woman who spoke English.

'Last night was horrible, no?  I went down to complain, but they would not stop.'

I asked her to whom she spoke, and wouldn't you know it?  'He was an Asian man.' So, please do not judge me when I did not feel any sympathy towards him when he was later seen thrown out of the restaurant.  Mme. HEART stole the credit for his Asian-French menu and gave it to her new chef.  However, she didn't gain much because two French men passed by the restaurant one day.  'Look, they serve Japanese-style food, but I hear it tastes fake.'

Parisians can't be fooled.  Insolence in their voice sounded cool to me.